This Life She's Chosen

I think I'm back from my rather extended hiatus.

I apologize for my lack of posting. Upon moving to State College, I began working at a kids' clothing store and serving at a local restaurant. I have been working between forty and sixty hours a week, and rarely have a whole day off. While the work is not typically mentally taxing, it involves a lot of running around and standing and being super nice to people, even if one would rather gouge one's eyeballs out. At first, I was just too tired to write. Then, the thought of writing became overwhelming because it had been so long since I had written anything. Then, my computer died. (I almost don't mind this fact, as it was ridiculously old and slow and cumbersome. And it buzzed louder than the swarm of bees that took Macaulay Culkin down in My Girl.) Then my father lost his job and it was Christmas and then New Year's and life was stressful, though not particularly interesting.

Regardless of my less than legitimate litany of excuses, I am back and intend to continue sticking around. I have some good news to kick off with. A couple of days ago, I was hired for a full-time billing position at a local doctor's office. I'll be making significantly more money and will have benefits and time off and all of that helpful stuff that one misses once it is no longer there. It couldn't have come at a better time, as I am currently barely scraping by financially. It definitely trumps attempting to pick up a third job at Starbucks, which would be rough, as I am too intimidated by the eight million varieties of coffee-like beverages to even walk into one of their establishments. I have already started working at the new job a tiny bit, and I'm not terribly intimidated thus far. I think I'll get the hang of everything, and they seem very willing to gradually introduce more responsibilites as I become more comfortable.

I am also going to attempt to keep both of my current part-time jobs. This may be a slightly masochistic decision, but I think it is doable. I like both of the jobs, and I think I will like them both even more in smaller doses. I love the people I work with at the retail store, plus I would probably suffer through an extended mourning period over the loss of my current clothing disount. I also enjoy working for tips. It's almost fun, and I get to meet lots of interesting people. I will be really busy, but I think I will be able to handle it. I've never put free time to especially good use, anyway.

Welcome to Happy Valley (Almost)

Quick Rundown of Recent Events:

Wednesday, 8/30/06 - Last day of work. Ate pizza and various baked goods. Remembered to hand over my keys that haven't accompianied me to the office since wintertime. Said goodbye. Forgot some stuff in my former desk. Last late afternoon trip to Elmira. Said goodbye. Went shopping. Took the wrong exit with my sister on the way home from the mall. Again. Made the executive decision not to move until my car is working. Also chose not to pack.

Thursday, 8/31/06 - Drove to State College with my sister for a job interview. Ran into lots of traffic and got highly confused by a detour. Chain smoked. Only almost killed us once. Was honked at accordingly. Wore cute new grown-up suit. Fretted that I looked slightly reminiscient of the Crocodile Hunter, due to suit's coloring. Donned cute, dorky glasses with plano (fake) lenses. Went pretty well, I think. Probably should have pulled my hair back. Dropped off a minivan full of my sister's crap at one of her friend's apartments. Got lost (on foot) trying to find said friend's apartment, as all of the buildings look exactly the same and I don't pride myself in being especially attentive. Was approached by some kid who waved and muttered something to the effect of "stop by sometime," though I couldn't really understand him. Smiled and nodded. Ate some tasty, but semi-expensive pizza. Came home and packed a pathetically tiny and random selection of items.

Friday, 9/1/06 - Left for State College with the family at 6:30ish. Whined about how I wanted a sausage biscuit from McDonalds. Got chocolate chip cookies as big as my head from the Flying J. truck stop convenience store instead. Picked up keys and a bus pass that boasts a horrendous picture of me, but will get me around town for free. If I can figure out how the bus system works. Ate desired sausage biscuit that my dad went to get for me during the hour or so it took to check in. Lugged another minivan full of my sister's stuff up three flights of stairs into the apartment, in addition to all of the junk from the previous day, a huge futon, and maybe 4 boxes of mine. Attempted to convince my sister to throw a nasty, filthy fan in the dumpster. She refused to oblige. Met the roommates. They seem very nice, though I am about 97% certain that, by the time I come back, the living room walls will be plastered with pictures of Reagan and the extended Bush family and loads of American Flags. Smoked on the new balcony. Leaned over to meet a downstairs neighbor after he jokingly yelled that I hit him with an ash. I didn't. Developed a rather legitmate fear of clumsy and/or drunk people falling off the balcony. Entertained the notion that I might not be as highly dependent on caffeine as I claim. Went shopping at what is perhaps the busiest Wal-Mart in existence, I suspect. Ran into my sister's fraternity guy friend. Forgot to ask him if he made a habit out of spanking girls with paddles. He inquired if I was a freshman. Reinforced my fear that everyone I meet is going to think I am super lame for living in an apartment complex full of undergrads in a college town, though I'm not actually taking classes and getting old. Found 12 packs of Diet Mountain Dew for $1.70 and squealed a little bit. Purchased five boxes, among other stuff. Unpacked, ate at Outback, checked out the comparitively unbusy Target, and bought a potentially uncute, yet satisfyingly cheap shower curtain. Dropped my sister off and headed home with the folks, though I'd have liked to stay at the new place. 7:00 PM might as well have been 1:30 AM.

Saturday, 9/2/06 - Picked up my new key for my car from a locksmith. (One is bent and the other met an untimely death in an Elmira College trash can during a NickVisit last year.) It doesn't work. I am waiting on the car alone to actually move in for real. Not cool, really. Traded in books at the local secondhand store and walked out with six or so new ones. Made an appearance at my aunt's garage sale in the midst of the dreariest, rainiest, coldest day in months. Walked out with two coats, a bunch of tank tops, and numb, white extremities. Watched the second half of the first season of Grey's Anatomy. Napped a lot.

This is Just to Say

* When posting the pros and cons of moving away, I regretfully omitted one of the hugest reasons as to why I'm sad about skipping town. I will be ditching my work soulmate, Jenni (she received this title from a very drunk me at her very fun wedding.) She is great. Though we are always very focused on our work and would never ever be found chatting about things such as workman's comping oneself or ebay dependencies or doggie valium or gender degredation, we enjoy each other's company (silently, of course). She also made me a copy of the Grey's Anatomy soundtrack. (I love it lots.) She is also extremely crafty, to such an extent that she now serves as my personal Hallmark store, minus the cheesy wordings. She will have her own business someday. And, she makes very good chocolate chip cookies. There will be much to miss.

* After reading my previous post, Nick informed me of what he'd like to speak about at my funeral. I told him to post it as a comment, but he didn't, so I am forced to paraphrase. He claims he will talk about my creepy Kevin Bacon fascination and bring along a cardboard cutout of the actor. (I request a long haired version!) At the end of the service, he plans to fold Kevin up and tuck him into the coffin. I love it! Nick is a very good buddy, by the way. He recently made his maiden voyage to the great town of Wellsboro. He loves it a lot. I know it. He is now very jealous of Tioga Countians. Nick things he is ghetto-fab. His away messages are slightly unreadable. He the super star wedding attendee of the summer. He loves his powder blue velour jump suit. He is very tolerant of silly drunkeness. He would not let me pin sponges to myself and call my costume "self-absorbed" for his Halloween party. He loves pictures, as long as he is in them.

* Megan informed me that my emails are,"like poetry, but not." It made me smile. Megan is very cool. She is also very short. She is the best little volleyball coach/former player. She rocks the spandex. She has an extremely sunny disposition, except in the winter months. She loves Ohio a whole lot, even though she moved away. And Friends, even though there are no new shows. Playing Get Drunk Friends and Get Drunk Jeopardy with her is a blast. We have fun, except for when I act like a twit. She has bouncey/curly hair. I covet it. She loves math. And beer. She especially loves The American President.

* I have to go to jury duty selection tomorrow. I am not especially pleased. In our little dinky town, almost none of the cases actually make it to trial, so I'm told. So, though I've known for a while that I was selected, I was completely banking on not actually having to show up. I called the jury hotline this afternoon, and I wasn't so lucky. So, I am trying to devise the best plan of action for getting out of actually being picked as a juror. I think I should try to portray myself as either bigoted or unstable. Since I am a crappy liar/actress, I'm thinking the latter is my only hope. I will have to work up some tears.

* I was called something to the effect of a "disgrace to myself and all womenkind," today. I had just made a comment about how I would not want someone pushing around the pockets of fat that envelop my spleen. I was just being silly (kind of), so I think it was maybe a bit extreme. But maybe not . . .

* My brother thinks it looks like I have a mullet in my profile picture. Oops! I actually had a modified femme-mullet when I was around 9 years old. I cried for days after the damage was done.

* Sometimes I feel as though I have the same epiphanies over and over again. They always seem fresh, though.

* My aunt worries that her three year old "might have a bit of Sara in her." Apparently, she watched herself dance around in front of a mirror for a half hour the other night.

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad

It's official. I am moving to State College, Pennsylvania. Soon. I put my resignation in at work early this week, and I will be unemployed as of August 30, 2006. I'm stressed. Eh, who am I kidding? I'm perpetually stressed. So I guess this could be categorized as extra stressed. I have sent out a few resumes, so I feel slightly accomplished, anyway. I am hoping for a cozy office bitch position with a few nights/weekends of waitressing or bartending thrown into the mix. Eh, in all honesty, I'm truly hoping to win the lottery. The Powerball is creeping up there. If all else fails, I will set up an appointment and start donating plasma for cash, despite the fact that it totally skeeves me out to do something seemingly charitable while masking my ulterior motives.

I feel slightly guilty about leaving my job. This is probably because I usually feel guilty about anything and everything that happens, whether or not I am a significant player in the action. I suspect I am the type of person that it would be ridiculously easy to manipulate into making a false confession. If anyone around me ever winds up dead, I will arrive at the questioning place with a lawyer in tow. But, realistically speaking, this is the first time I've ever had to quit a job. With every other position I've held, it has been for some fixed period of time. So leaving has always happened on extremely amicable terms. This is a job that I (presumably) could have kept for as long as I wanted it. And I do like the work enough and feel comfortable there. Unfortunately for me, becoming comfortable is dangerous. I need to push myself to discover what I am skilled in, what I am capable of accomplishing, and what I truly enjoy. Obviously, moving to a much bigger area where the local paper boasts more than 5 help wanted ads per week is a decent starting point. I hate applying for jobs and interviewing. I despise starting new jobs and fumbling around like a nervous, socially inept idiot. But I do feel better prepared for the process at this point in my life than I ever had previously.

What I am excited about (in no particular order):

1. Moving out of my parents' living room.
2. Having my own bedroom.
3. Having my own bathroom!
4. Free tanning.
5. Free (kind of crappy, but still) gym access.
6. Not having to drive an hour to shop.
7. Potentially making enough money to actually be able to shop.
8. Many more pizza places to choose from.
9. Many more bars to frequent.
10. The possibility of befriending new people.
11. The possibility of befriending new love interests. Haha.
12. The possibility of starting graduate school in the not so ridiculously distant future.
13. Visitors!
14. The potential emergence of something resembling a social life.
15. Fun times with my litte sister.

What I am not so excited about (in no particular order):

1. Packing.
2. Abandoning my health benefits.
3. Paying rent/utilities.
4. Needing a cell phone.
5. Using my old, crappy computer. If it still works.
6. Living in a place that caters to college students, simply because I feel kind of like a loser.
7. Relying on my alarm clock to wake me up. Parents are currently a good back-up.
8. Relying on my piece of crap car to actually stay in working order. (That is, once I get it back in working order in the first place.)
9. Surrounding myself with professed haters of feminism and sympathizers of the plight of the white man. (Who, I'm sure, are all very nice and fun people otherwise.)
10. No more inside smoking.
11. Developing an entirely new daily routine.
12. More stressful driving situations.
13. Living even further away from all of my friends in upstate New York/New England.
14. Unpacking.
15. Buying my own toilet paper and laundry detergent, etc.

All in all, I think this is a positive step forward. We'll see how it progresses. Wish me luck!

I Feel Your Pain, Hester Prynne

The low carb kick in my office has (at least temporarily) ended. We are playing a version of The Biggest Loser, eye doctors' office style. The competition started 2.5 weeks ago and will last until Christmas break. Everyone, with the exception of 3 people, is participating, including the doctors. The rules are as follows:

1. Liz is the official weigher inner. I assume she was chosen because she seems to be the least gossipy/catty/interested in what anyone else weighs.
2. One must pay $1.00 weekly to participate.
3. One must pay $1.00 for each pound that is gained at the weekly weigh in. (I, being a slightly masochistic dumbass who tends to get a bit overexcited about new weight loss games, created this rule.)
4. If one loses weight, one must choose a colorful star sticker bearing an encouraging word to display on one's nametag for the duration of the week. I was Super Sara for week one. Apparently, due to the fact that they are men or the bosses or people who get to wear lab coats with their names embroidered, this rule does not apply to the doctors.
5. If one gains weight, one must choose a letter sticker that represents an unflattering word to display on one's nametag for the duration of the week. This rule was fashioned in an homage to The Scarlet Letter. This week, I am "h" Sara. I chose "h" due to a limited number of "f's," (too many gainers for our measly sticker supply) and because it is so versatile, potentially standing for huge, heavy, heaviest, hippo, humongous, hippy, etc. The doctors also do not have to participate in our oh so literary take on public humiliation, despite my protests.
6. If one maintains the same weight for two consecutive weeks, one must pay $1.00.
7. If one chooses to quit participating at any point in the competition, one must pay $20.00.
8. At the conclusion of the competition, the person who loses the most weight profits from everyone else's failures. I lobbied (okay, whined) rather intensely at the beginning for the results to be based on percentage of weight lost, rather than total pounds. I had a few people on my team, but was sadly overruled by the greater game authorities. As this was my only realistic hope in coming close winning, I am aware that I am likely wasting my money. Oh, well.(I sometimes consider trying to instate a no laxatives clause, as some people think they are fun, but they seem to be far my idea of a good time. No need to piss anyone off, though.)

So, I was down 3 lbs week one, and up 6 lbs week two (probably due to some dunkin donuts, some taco dip, some kickboxing skipping, way too much beer and an unfortunate decision to move the weigh in to Monday. I was down 3 lbs by the next day, but was not permitted to reweigh. The brats . . .) I think it is funny. I am out $9.00 so far. It'll be interesting to see how things progress.

*** Note: I stand corrected. One of the doctors was sporting the letter "f" on his lapel today. Either I am a dirty, less than observant liar, or someone guilted him into it between yesterday and today, because I hadn't noticed it.***

A (Couple of) Day(s) in the Life

I haven't done a very good job of keeping this thing updated, but I'm going to make great attempts to be more consistent.

Thoughts/Observations/Updates (I apologize for the lack of central theme or anything especially interesting. It happens.)

I've made it through 5 weeks at the new job. I am feeling much more comfortable there and a lot less stupid, though there are still some things I am uncertain about. I think I may be solidifying my spot as the person with the least common sense to ever work there, though. (I think I can claim this position in just about any group of people I am placed in.) Many have witnessed me struggle with pulling down/putting up the blinds in my window on multiple occasions. (Apparently, pulling the string to either the right or left will make the blinds lock at the top or fall down. I had no idea there was a system involved.) Other simple tasks that I have failed to master include, but are not limited to, loading paper into the old school printer, loading tape into a calculator, changing staples on a humongous stapler, and figuring out how to restart my computer and phone after I accidentially unplugged them. I think it takes some talent to be this clueless about ridiculously simple tasks.

I like my job because I get to use stickers and highlighters and vary my writing style. Sometimes I play a game in my head where I try to mimic the handwriting of the last person who wrote in the chart. There is quite a variety, as I am apparently the 19th person hired to work in the front office in the last couple of years.

I think this job is good for me because mistakes are inevitable. They are certainly to be avoided at all costs, but they do happen. I have made them, and the world hasn't ended. There is no time to focus on making something look perfect or sound perfect because there is so much going on. Sometimes, you stumble over your words on the phone and sound like a bit of an idiot. Sometimes patients get mad and call you stupid. Scheduling errors sometimes occur. Ultimately, there is no time to berate yourself for looking/sounding/being stupid. I think it's an excellent type of workplace for me right now. I find myself feeling less anxious in a more hectic and high-pressure environment. Go figure.

I have been sick since Sunday. Just a cold, but it definitely sucked at first. It felt like a small child was sitting on my lungs for the first couple of days. Tylenol Cold actually works, and I now recommend it. Of course, people at works weren't especially pleased to have a sneezing and coughing person in their presence, and it was made clear that I was not to infect anyone else. Um, okay. I don't think I did, so I guess I win. I kept waking up last night with coughing fits, which was a blast. I caught Murphy Brown and half of Who's the Boss on Nick@Nite from 3:00 - 3:45. I don't know why they put the decent shows on at ridiculous hours. My mother is convinced that this cold was only supposed to last 3 days, so she keeps asking me if I've been taking my vitamins.

Kickboxing has been going on for a month, and I haven't skipped yet. I intend to stick it out to the end this time, even though it is brutal. There are only around 10 people who come to class, which is a whole lot less than the norm. So we dutifully show up, and she tries to kill us. We do a ridiculous number of squats, and I make mean faces at her. It's definitely a workout, and I do feel accomplished when we're finished. If you've ever attempted to do Tai Bo with me and find yourself curious about my punching abilities, yes, I still throw somewhat wimpy punches. I'm a hardcore kicker, though.

Every Wednesday night, I find myself feeling envious of Lost watchers.

I have been trying to figure out which type of old person I will be. The broad categorizations seem to be grumpy, cute, or crazy, though some people might manage to transcend the boundaries and fall into more than one. I'm thinking I will be a crazy, and I love it. I will hopefully be an endearing crazy and not a batshit crazy. I guess I am making progress, as I never wanted to live to be old before. But the prospect of being an eccentric and entertaining old lady has me half convinced.

I hate the state of Oregon because someone there won the ridiculously huge Powerball and I didn't.

Some girls at work started doing the Atkins diet this week. I guess they don't know that low-carb is so a year and a half ago. The new trend is to eat whole grains, according to Self or Fitness or some similar magazine. I think I might believe it, too, because I saw whole grain Chips Ahoy in Wal-Mart the other day. I bet they taste super. I personally don't believe that whole grains really aid in weight loss efforts, but they do seem healthy. So if health is truly your goal, jump on the latest bandwagon, gals. Anyway, I think low-carb diets are dumb in the long run, but maybe it is because I am weak willed. To each his own. So whenever I am asked if I am going to join in, I supress the urge to roll my eyes and profess my love for bread. White bread, at that. And beer. I'm such a rebel.

I miss my friends.

If I Were a Rich Girl

I spend too much time pondering what I will do when I win the lottery. This is a somewhat embarrassing admission, as I usually take pride in being a more or less realistic person who can accept the world/my life for what it is without feeling the need to cloud my vision with rose/grey/rainbow tinted glasses. (Of course, this does not necessarily apply to times when I have had a few too many drinks or to my crazy period, circa late 2001 through early 2003.) I really don't like money and don't have any driving need for an exorbitant number of material possessions. I'd just like to pay off my bills, pay off my parents' bills, buy a decent car, move into my own place, and go back to school. Okay, I'd also like an ipod and a treadmill and a vacation. And maybe I'd like to go to school for forever and to only choose to work if I truly loved what I was doing. I fully comprehend that having money does not in any way guarantee contentedness, and one would have to be somewhat silly to assume otherwise. (See: Citizen Kane, The Great Gatsby, any John Cheever short story, MaryKate Olsen, etc.) What having some money should provide, however, is a certain amount of security and stability that would be very useful at this point in my life. Of course, there a few other, more realistic courses of action.

1. Quit smoking. According to this handy calculator, I would save approximately $159.38 per month and $1939.60 per year. To be honest, to see/type that amount of money makes me cringe a bit. However, that extra two grand would probably have to be poured into massive amounts of therapy and new clothes, as I would clearly a) get fat and b) go nuts (likely from a combination of living at home without smoking + dealing with work without smoking + gaining weight). The risk outweighs the cost. Sad, yes. Pathetic, sure. True, nonetheless.
2. Break my caffeine addiction. If I purchase 6 twelve packs of diet soda per week at approximately $3.00 each and spend maybe $10.00 on convenience store coffee/bottles of soda, it works out to $112.00 each month and $1344.00 per year. Again, I admit it seems a tad excessive. Similarly, I don't think it's worth the misery that a caffeine-free existence might entail. To my credit, I drink more water than soda at work now. And I could work on cutting back.
3. Pick up a second job. This may be my most doable option at this point. As I am now released from the federal government's requirements which prohibited me from picking up additional work last year, I feel kind of guilty about having free time and so much debt. Any extra money, even that from a minimum wage position, would help. More work, however, would exponentially heighten the burnout potential, as I already have a hard time making it past 9:30 when Friday evening rolls around. I may adjust to working and being "on" more often than not, though. Plenty of people do it. It would also be a hindrance to my social life, which would potentially be another cause for concern, if it exhisted on any level at the moment.
4. Reality television. Um, yeah. My mother suggests I apply for this show. Apparently they advertise in the Elmira Star Gazette, if that says anything about its potential for quality. And while I'm sure it'd be lovely to share all of my specific money woes with the world in an effort to make everyone else who is luckier or more frugal than I am feel better about themselves, I just don't think my "story" would be all that interesting. Plus, I'm not pretty enough for tv. And it doesn't appear as though the debt or any portion of it would be eliminated. I'd be willing to apply for The Amazing Race though. Anyone looking for a partner with no navigational skills who can't drive stick? Or Survivor. If I do win the lottery, I think I will send in an application. Being a millionaire will be my hook. I'll lie and play innocent/dumb/poor and all of the non-millionaires will be pissed when starvation eats my brain and I somehow accidentially reveal that I'm actually set for life. I'll give any money I win away, of course. See, there I go again . . .

Any other suggestions?

Attention All Chubby Chasers

Three weeks ago, I came to the unfortunate realization that I managed to gain 7 lbs in one month. I'm pretty sure this takes some major talent. (Or possibly a bum thyroid, but I'm fairly certain my diet of dunkin donuts, kit kats, and pizza might be the true culprit.) I talk about the weight gain nonchalantly, and I guess I have a positive enough attitude about it. My clothes still fit and people give me confused looks and tell me they don't believe it when it comes up in casual conversation. (I have well-documented proof, damn it!) The gain has only brought me back up to my body's apparent "set-weight," if one believes in such a thing . . . a comfortable enough place where I either have to consciously eat way too much or diet rigorously to enact major changes. (And hey, if I were to have enough money/humility/self-control to join weight watchers, I would get two extra points from the get go.)

I'd like to not care, to roll with it and accept what happens. However, I seem to feel the need to possess a quantifiable goal in my life at the moment, and I can't come up with anything better than losing the weight/becoming thin/blahblahblah. Seriously, it gets old. I am sickened by the almost universal obsession with thinness purported by American women. I mean, really, what the hell does it matter? There are about 10 women who work in my office, who range from rather thin to moderately overweight, and one of the most prevalent types of nonwork-related conversations seems to constantly involve eating vs. not eating, liposuction vs. cellulite, good food vs. bad food, etc. I have only been there for two weeks, and I can't even count how many times I have been praised for being "good" and avoiding the cookies/bagels/cake/candy/take out. Yeah, I'm so good for skimping on lunch (usually because I am just too busy/stressed/poor to eat all that much while I am there). So good, in fact, that I still see a dietician once a month and have shitty skin and ruined teeth. Don't get me wrong. I harbor no malicious feelings toward these people or women in general. It's clearly not just a localized issue. It seems as though one can walk into any random grouping of women and encounter a similar situation. And I, admittedly, jump right in and contribute to the body-loathing/food categorizing efforts more often than not. I am certainly knowledgable in the subject matter. It is just somewhat jarring when it appears that I have a seemingly better attitude toward food than so many "normal" women. I don't know. Ideally, my notion of "good" involves a healthy-sized someone who eats a normal-sized lunch and then grabs a cookie unapologetically. A woman whose conversations reflect her intelligence and interests, rather than her insecurities. And, yes, I realize I am coming off as more than slightly hypocritical in this argument, but I am thankful for the small moments of insight and disappointment. At the very least, a less quantifiable, but ultimately more satisfying goal lies ahead.

She Works Hard For the Money

I am no longer an Americorps*VISTA. It was a good year. I learned a lot about general office happenings, a little about basic marketing, and had an enjoyable time tutoring STAR students. I was allowed to use my strengths (a basic knowledge of how to write clearly and consisely and a ruthless proofreading eye) and forced to develop some level of confidence in my abilities. I'm not sure I did much for VISTA's overall mission (to eradicate poverty in the United States). I never saw my work plan (I am not sure it ever existed), never handed in a time sheet or monthly progress report. (For the record, I would have willingly done so. I inquired about such things, but never received answers.) Our VISTA site closed after my term was up, so I think it is safe to say such things without jeopardizing the program. Overall, it provided me with some much-needed experience and little pay. The idealist in me would have loved to have entered an AmeriCorps experience that truly stretched me, where I was forced to pay rent on the measly stipend in a poverty-stricken area and I knew, with certainty, that I was making some sort of difference in someone's life. The realist in me is thankful that I had a professional type of position for a year and was not forced to clean rooms or work in a convenience store to get by. Decent jobs are difficult to acquire around these parts.

I started a new job last week. I am working in an eye doctor's office. I feel pretty stupid still and assume that most of the people who work there think I am, as well. It is hectic and fast-paced, but I am hopeful that I will get the hang of it soon. The majority of the patients are elderly and adorable. As my standard speech consists of speedily delivered mumbles, I am slowly adjusting to constantly speaking slowly and loudly in my syrupy phone voice. There are tons of things that I don't have the hang of yet, and it is frustrating and worrisome. I like the people who work there (including my aunt, who helped me get the job) and I think I will like the job enough once I get the hang of it. I tell myself that it won't be the worst thing in the world if it doesn't work out, but I don't know. I hate sucking at things (not that many people probably enjoy it). I do enjoy the uniform . . . khaki pants, green polo shirt, lab coat . . . it's rather comfortable and completely frees up time formerly devoted to wardrobe planning.